


Lupanare

by anniehow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Alternate Canon, Canon Related, Dubious Consent, Loss of Virginity, M/M, mentions of everyone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 14:35:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniehow/pseuds/anniehow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lupanare (n.) Latin: literally "a wolf's den". Figuratively "a brothel".</p><p>They're at the end of their options, and Stiles is <i>not</i> going to play the virgin sacrifice, not if he can get Derek to do anything about it.</p><p>-------</p><p>An experiment at writing non-sterek sterek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lupanare

**Author's Note:**

> This started out with two considerations:
> 
> 1 the show built in canon fuck or die/aliens made them do it and there's not as many fics of this as I expected there would be. Or at least of the type of fics I wanted.
> 
> 2 I started watching the show knowing all bout Sterek, and found myself disappointed with the amount of on-screen interaction Derek and Stiles actually get. I guess I'm spoiled by Dean and Cas staring longingly in each other's eyes for minutes at a time every damn episode they appear in on SPN. So the fact that others saw much more potential in the pairing than I did (especially the way Tyler Hoechlin lights up whenever he mentions Stiles) became the point of interest for me.
> 
> So I thought: what if Aliens Made Them Do It but with the way *I* see the pairing?

 

“Ok, you do it,” Stiles finally says, steeling himself as best as he can, heart hammering in his chest.

Derek pauses long enough to pant a few gulping breaths before he applies all his strength to the iron bars again. Despite the werewolf’s best efforts, they’re not bending even slightly. “I’m _trying_ ,” he grits out.

No, Stiles thinks, shaking his head. They have until moonrise before Jennifer comes back for them, or until the lunar eclipse, more likely. Then they’ll both be sacrificed, or only Stiles’ virginal ass will be while she makes Derek her whatever- attack wolf against the alphas? They are still painfully uninformed as to her real plan. But they do know she’s planning another sacrifice, and Stiles is it. Virgin, warrior, philosopher, healer, guardian... at one point or another he’s embodied all five, and the final sacrifice will seal the deal.

Maybe he’s not even the _final_ sacrifice. He’ll be dead in a couple of hours anyway.

He shivers, eying the cage holding them. Derek’s managed to get rid of the ropes and chains binding them, but he’s still weak from the dose of wolfsbane she used to subdue him, and the lunar eclipse isn’t doing them any favors. Even at full strength it would take him quite a bit to bend the bars far enough to let them through. Stiles doesn’t think it’s possible for them to escape, has accepted the fact, so there’s only one other logical course of action.

“No, I mean, you have to- I can’t do it on my own or I’d be already set for life,” he laughs, weakly.

Derek turns to look at him, frowning. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You have to- she wants to sacrifice me, right? She’s going to come back any moment now and string me up, cut my throat, and, and-“

Derek slams his open palm against the bars, making them reverberate with a clang and making Stiles shut his mouth with a click.

“I won’t let her hurt you,” Derek vows, and Stiles knows he intends to keep his promise. Too bad their track record against the Darach isn’t exactly encouraging.

“We still have more than two hours, Stiles,” Derek continues, clearly trying to calm him down. “The others will find us. Scott-“

“Isn’t here,” Stiles bites out. He’s not sure if he’d rather have Scott here with him. On the one hand, his best friend right by his side. On the other, Scott in the Darach’s power. No, that’s not something he’d wish for, not even selfishly. “Maybe he’ll come. Maybe we’ll all survive. Hell, maybe a meteor will fall on Beacon Hills or a freak storm of birds will peck her to death-“

Derek turns back to the bars, trying again to bend them and ostensibly ignoring him.

“My point being,” Stiles laboriously bites back his babbling, wanting to get it out, and oh god could this be any more humiliating, “that we’re stuck here doing nothing. It’s everybody else’s move, and we’re stuck here waiting for it. Except-“ he gulps, but he’s decided and he’s determined, “there is one thing we can do. Or that you can do. To me. With me.”

Derek spares him a glance before adjusting his grip and pulling again. He raises an eyebrow to indicate he’s listening, which is just about all the encouragement Stiles expected.

“We can make sure she can’t use me as a sacrifice. Spoil her little plan. Spoil me,” he adds. He’d waggle his eyebrows suggestively, but for the life of him he can’t find the humor in the situation.

“I’m not killing you before she has the chance,” Derek returns flatly.

“Seriously?? That’s where you think I’m going with this? Damn straight you’re not killing me before she has the chance, my plan involves nobody killing me, ever, in fact. No, God! You’re not allowed to make plans, because they suck, your plans. My plans, on the other hand, tend towards the awesome.”

“So what’s your awesome plan, again?”

“Not being sacrificed,” Stiles gulps, raising his chin. In a pinch, he wouldn’t call it _awesome_ , but compared to Derek’s, it’s miles better. “I’m still a virgin, but. I can _not_ be, when she comes back. And ‘puff’, her five-fold final sacrifice is not here anymore.”

He shoots a glance at Derek. He’s not looking back at Stiles, but he’s stopped trying to give himself a hernia.

“Er, fuck me, fuck up her plan?” He doesn’t know how to be any plainer.

“She’d probably kill you anyway,” Derek finally replies.

“I don’t care,” Stiles shoots back hotly. “No, well, I care, a lot, but there’s not much I can do about that. At least I can make my death useless- I mean. Not ‘useless’, but not useful to her, you know? I just don’t want her to win using _me_.”

Derek is silent until Stiles looks at him, meeting his eyes. His expression is miles away. “I know what you mean,” he says quietly. He sits down, opposite Stiles, bending his knees and resting his elbows on them, head bowed.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

And that is- actually a good question. Stiles didn’t really think beyond convincing Derek to take his virginity. That was supposed to be the hard part, and then the rest would just… happen. “I guess we have sex? Here? Before she wises up and comes back? Oh god, what if the moment we start she senses her plan falling apart and comes here and kills us? While we’re having full-on sex? And then we’ll forever be the two guys killed mid-coitus by the evil witch, and we’ll become Beacon Hills’ very own urban legend-“

“Stiles.” It’s Derek’s incredulous look that stops him, more than anything. “You’re actually serious about this.”

“YES!” He gets up and starts pacing, unable to sit still any longer. “I was going to take care of it when the sacrifices started, but then she wasn’t targeting virgins anymore and I thought I had more time.” He stops, and smirks. He might, _might_ have found the humor in the situation. “You know Mr Westover? The history teacher she killed? He did a lesson on ancient law before she got to him. Did you know that in ancient Rome you couldn’t sentence a virgin to death? It had to do with purity, and maybe protecting the innocent, children,  whatever. So they never killed a virgin. The trick was the prison guards: they made sure whoever needed offing wasn’t a virgin anymore, and problem solved.” He opens his hands in a ‘ta-da’ gesture.

Derek is looking at him with his usual unhappy expression. “Stiles,” he starts patiently.

“I guess she didn’t know. Or she didn’t anticipate it. Anyway, she made a big mistake when she put us in the same cage. Or it’s lucky she needed the two of us. Yep.” He nods to himself.

Derek looks away. “It’s not luck. I was looking for you. We all were. We split up to cover more ground. The others will catch up.”

“Right,” Stiles keeps nodding. “So you’re saying that somebody else is either about to land in the cage with us or we’ll get rescued. Ok, awesome. Where were you when, you know,” he makes a motion like snatching something mid-air, snapping his fingers.

Derek frowns. “I was supposed to check the school but she sent me a message. I was…” he shakes his head, like he’s trying to dislodge the memory. “I don’t remember.” He clenches his jaw.

“Right. So, the others will literally have no idea where we are. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like those odds. Considering if we lose, I get sacrificed.” Stiles sits back down, rubbing his hands through his hair.

Derek is looking at him steadily. Stiles used to find his stare creepy and terrifying, but lately he’s downgraded it as merely unsettling. He often wonders if there’s some werewolf sense involved in making Derek’s gaze so piercing.

Whatever he sees, he’s bothered by it. “You don’t actually want this,” he says dismissively.

“Believe me, Derek, I have many, many things I want less than having sex with you, and all of them involve your psychotic girlfriend and her continuing success. Sex in general is actually something fairly high on my list of priorities. Is it a problem because I’m a guy? Is it the gay thing?”

“No, it’s not ‘the gay thing’,” Derek bristles, “werewolves don’t discriminate.”

“Really? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure Scott is a one-way track.”

“He’s bitten. And in love.”

“So you don’t have a problem with me.”

“The problem, Stiles, is that you’re a teenaged boy, scared out of your mind, and making bad decisions!”

“Oh, no, you don’t get to lecture me on bad decisions, _Derek_. You’re the king of bad decisions! In fact, your objections are pretty much a guarantee that _this_? Is a good decision. And I’m standing by it.” He crosses his arms.

Derek abruptly gets up and stalks up to Stiles, dropping to his knees in front of him, slamming his hands on the bars either side of his head and bracketing him with his entire frame. “So you want me to fuck you, is that it?”

“I-“ Stiles squeals, voice treacherously high. He swallows and grabs Derek’s arms, determined not to be intimidated out of this. “I want us to fuck her up. That’s what I want.” Derek from up close is intense, but sheer repeated exposure has rubbed away the frightening aspect of it. One thing Stiles is sure of, would swear by and is willing to put his life on, is that Derek doesn’t want to hurt him.

Intent and actual result are two different things, unfortunately, especially where werewolves are concerned, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that Derek, despite all his posturing, really wants people, Stiles included, to be safe.

It’s Derek that breaks eye contact first, and it’s Derek that tries to pull away.

Stiles lets the arms slide through his hands until he can grab Derek’s wrists, then he tightens his grip. “I don’t have a condom,” he confesses. “Or lube. Or anything. Do you…?”

Derek shakes his head.

“I’m open to suggestions. I mean, you’re the one with experience here.”

And at that, Derek flinches.

Stiles has been worrying about a lot of things in the last hour or so, but Derek’s sexual prowess was not something he considered as problematic.

“You do have experience, right? That little ‘werewolves don’t discriminate’ spiel wasn’t just smoke and mirrors, right? Derek?”

“It’s fine,” Derek says shortly, which doesn’t really answer Stiles questions or mean anything concrete. He sits back on his haunches, and yanks his wrists out of Stiles’ grip. He rubs a hand up and down his face. “How are you defining ‘virgin’?”

Stiles blinks. “As in: no one has ever touched my dick?”

“I’m serious, Stiles. There’s a lot of different things that count as ‘sex’. The Romans had a pretty narrow view on the subject, if we want to keep to your historical anecdotes.”

“Westover didn’t cover-“

“Penetration,” Derek elaborates, clenching his jaw and looking somewhere above Stiles’ shoulder. “Boys  were taken to brothels and expected to…” he makes a lewd gesture, which makes Stiles swallow audibly.

“Ms Morell did sex ed in our freshmen year. She said that reaching mutual orgasms with our partner would, er… cover it. How do you know so much about Roman sex?”

“Rites of passage play a key role in narrative theory,” Derek sighs, which would beg a whole other set of questions already climbing Stiles’ tongue, but they die there when their eyes meet briefly.

Derek looks determinedly down at the floor then, ruminating on the problem, and hopefully solving it. Stiles feels he’s given just about all the input he possesses here.

“You’re sure she’s not around here, right?” Stiles prods, after a long moment of silence.

Derek frowns, tilting his head and listening hard. His eyes flash blue. He sniffs the air. “We’re alone,” he declares, which means no murderous druids, but also no rescuers.

They both know it, and this time they actually look at each other. Derek looks both apologetic and nervous, like it has finally dawned on him just how hopeless their situation is.

Despite his best intentions, Stiles is scared. But the fact that Derek is probably just as scared as he is, gives him the final clue to get his plan moving along. “Derek, seriously, put yourself in my position for a moment and tell me you wouldn’t want the same.”

Derek closes his eyes and bows his head, his whole face scrunching up in a grimace. He nods and lets a breath out, a whispery ‘yeah’ barely audible on the exhale. “What do you want?”

This is it, Stiles thinks, his stomach tying up in knots. “I told you, I’m not sure-“

“I have an idea,” Derek interrupts him, not meeting his eyes, “don’t worry about it. Just- tell me what you like. Or what you don’t like, give me some frame of reference.”

“I don’t know, I haven’t even really made out with that many girls… is there something _you_ don’t like? Or that I should avoid?” If there’s one thing he took from that sex ed class it was respecting boundaries.

“No kissing,” Derek says quietly, which kind of stings. Strike another one from the list of things Stiles thought would be involved in his first time. Besides, well, the absence of abject terror.

“Stiles, calm down,” Derek says, finally meeting his eyes. “Look, just close your eyes and think about whoever you want. I’ll be quiet.”

“You don’t have to… w-what are you doing?” Because of all the things Stiles was preparing himself for, Derek taking his hand and holding it wasn’t one of them.

“Your pulse is running,” Derek says calmly, before raising his hand to his mouth and kissing Stiles’ wrist.

“Uhm,” Stiles blinks, basically struck dumb.

“Close your eyes, Stiles,” Derek murmurs, mouthing at the underside of Stiles’ arm, inching his way towards the elbow. “Concentrate on a fantasy. You must have a few.”

Stiles actually tilts his head back and closes his eyes, letting out a long breath and a whole load of stress with it. He tries to do as Derek suggested, concentrating on what he’s feeling and matching his getting-de-virginized fantasies to it. He’s sitting in a dank cell, leaning against steel bars, and there’s a wet mouth, tongue and teeth sucking and scraping their way up his arm.

He tries to grasp at one of his ‘celebrity’ fantasies, but they’re too elusive to tie them in a reality like this. He can’t actually divorce himself from his situation, and he wants someone he knows and trust to play this out.

The feeling on his arm is pretty nice, actually. It tingles in a good way that is switching on his skin all over, away from discomfort and towards interest.

Where was he? Oh, right: fantasy. Sexy fantasy. He had so many sexy fantasies about Lydia, for so long, but now that they actually talk and they’ve become friends Stiles is actually glad she isn’t here. Maybe, no scratch that, unless she could have come up with a brilliant escape plan (and knowing Lydia’s brain, she probably would) she would have helped him, and then what? Awkwardness and embarrassment, and a friendship he’s worked hard at ruined forever. No, he doesn’t want Lydia here with him now.

Derek’s put a hand on his ribs, a gentle, almost tentative touch, and he’s moved to suckling gently on Stiles’ collarbone, nosing the flannel shirt’s collar out of the way.

Allison and her many, many weapons would probably make him feel safe, but thank God Allison’s not the one here right now. Having sex with her would mean the both of them would never be able to look Scott in the eye again and- no. Just no.

Cora, on the other hand. They don’t have the same kind of history he had Lydia share, and there aren’t the kind of hang ups there would be with Allison. He likes Cora, and he thinks she likes him well enough she would help him out in a situation like this. Their tentative friendship would probably hold up under something like this, maybe even acquire a ‘cellmates’ kind of bond. Besides, Cora is a werewolf and the ability to maul evil Darachs is a definite plus.

And Cora and Derek are quite similar, if you sit them down and attempt to wrestle a conversation out of them.

Derek is now busy nibbling at Stiles’s left earlobe, after having thoroughly lavished attention on the right side of his neck. The hand on the ribs has dropped by a couple of inches, and he’s teasing at the hem of the shirt, on Stiles’ hipbone, with the tip of his fingers barely brushing the skin underneath.

It’s a goddamn tease, it’s what it is, and they don’t have all night. Stiles makes a needy grunt at the back of his throat and places his hands on the warm body kneeling between his legs, right under the leather jacket and sneaking under the tight shirt to find skin and hard muscles.

It’s a jolt, an undeniably male body, and suddenly Cora is not a sustainable fantasy anymore.

Stiles wonders if this is what going home with Danny that night, when he joked about sex in the locker room, would have been like. He’s sure sex with Danny would have been nice. Danny’s an all round nice guy, and this is pretty nice so far, and he’s with a guy, and-

Danny, innocent, human Danny would be pretty useless in this situation.

So what he needs is someone who’s a werewolf and doesn’t talk much, like Cora, but who has a body and manners like Danny.

Also with a beard. Because the beard is starting to get pretty distracting, the way Derek is using it to barely scratch at his skin and-

“Oh my God, it’s you! It’s gotta be you!” Stiles blurts out, and when did his voice drop like this? He didn’t plan on making it all husky, but it came out as a growl nonetheless.

Derek only ‘hums’ inquisitively without pausing or looking up.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers, a little bewildered, raising his hand and cupping the back of Derek’s head. He buries is fingers in the short hair there, and revels in the feeling. His sense of touch feels heightened, and he’s growing impatient with not having anything to do in return. Then one of Derek’s hands slides behind his back, stroking at the base of his spine, the touch hot on his cool skin, and something weird happens.

It feels like sitting down in a tub full of pleasantly warm water, like the air all around him isn’t creepily moldy and cold anymore but sweet and soft and all his muscles relax at once. Even sitting on the hard floor doesn’t feel uncomfortable anymore.

“What did you do?” Stiles breathes, eyes popping open and trying to catch Derek’s gaze, despite him looking everywhere but Stiles’ face. “Was that some kind of freaky werewolf power at play?”

That gets a flicker of a stare and a hint of a smile, before Derek pushes Stiles’ T-shirt up enough to kiss him on the chest. He doesn’t go straight for the nipple, but rather mouths his way around, winding up Stiles more and more.

“’Huh, Derek, not that this doesn’t feel awesome, because- huh… awesome is, yeah, good… description, but if you could get on with it…”

“We have time, don’t worry,” Derek murmurs, detouring for another round of nipping at Stiles’ earlobe.

“That’s not- wasn’t really thinking of that. It’s more that I… hum, oh god.”

“I know. I can smell you, you know. And hear your heart beat.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles repeats, because it shouldn’t be such a turn on, but he’s gotten to the point where sitting with his jeans buttoned up is becoming really uncomfortable. “I don’t think I can take much more.”

“Stiles, you have no idea,” and Derek is grinning, he can hear it in his voice and feel it against his chest when  he scrapes his teeth on Stiles’ nipple and bites down gently on it.

Stiles can’t help the groan, deep and hungry, when Derek’s hand finally drops to palm him through his jeans. Even during his most memorable jerking off sessions, he’s never been this turned on.

“This is amazing, please don’t stop, oh God. You. Are. Amazing.”

“Don’t have much to compare to,” Derek huffs, and this time Stiles gathers enough presence of mind to grab at his hair and pull gently until Derek is kneeling up and looking Stiles in the eye.

“Don’t need to. You are. Seriously.”

Derek gives him a small, fond smile, and drops his chin, giving him a look through his lashes. “Ready for the main event?”

Stiles wants to kiss him. It seems absurd not to, but Derek specifically said no, and there’s so few things Stiles can be doing right now for Derek that he clings to this one and doesn’t do anything besides smile. “Oh, yes, please.”

Derek strokes his cheek with the tip of his fingers, his thumb briefly edging over his lips. “Close your eyes.”

Stiles complies, letting his head drop back again and leaving his hand on the nape of Derek’s neck. Derek mouths his way down his chest, but it’s not until he nibbles at the skin under the belly button and thumbs open the first jeans button that Stiles realizes where this is going. He groans again, putting both hands on Derek’s head and pushing, because perhaps Derek’s forgotten what it means to be a teenager and coming in your pants at the slightest input, but Stiles is definitely there. “I’m going to- Derek!”

“You’re all right,” Derek breathes directly on his skin, and with a quick flick he undoes all the buttons and pulls Stiles’ dick free of his underwear (does he have the Avengers boxers on? Oh god, please let him not have the Avengers boxers on at this time). The contact of mere air makes Stiles whimper, he’s so close and just the idea of a hot, wet mouth-

Derek grabs him by the base of his cock and squeezes gently, and Stiles stays perched on the edge, like he’s on a cliff and he stepped off face first, but instead of falling there’s a harness holding him and he can look all the way down and _not fall_.

And then Derek suckles the tip of his dick, wet and no teeth, tongue stroking his frenulum, then swallows him down and eases his grip to tease lightly at his balls.

Stiles comes immediately, too quickly to even voice any kind of warning. All he can do is grab convulsively at Derek’s ears as his spine snaps forward, folding himself in two with his loudest moan yet.

Derek stays still through Stiles’ aftershocks. When Stiles relaxes again, leaning back and consciously opening his hands to release Derek’s head, he pulls back slowly, sucking up every drop of cum like he’s sort of cleaning up after the deed. Then he gets up, leaving Stiles alone and going to spit in a corner.

The afterglow snaps the moment Derek stops touching him, and Stiles is abruptly aware again of his surroundings and his situation. He hurriedly tucks himself back in his pants and straightens his shirt, buttoning up the flannel and pushing down the sleeves. He hopes nobody will realize what happened- no, wait, the Darach needs to know, that’s kind of the point.

It’s just that now that it’s happened Stiles doesn’t really feel like sharing this with anyone else. He had this moment with Derek, and it’s theirs, not anyone else’s. Except for how Derek now is standing as far as he can and isn’t looking at Stiles at all.

“Hey,” Stiles whispers, even though he wasn’t at all mindful of the volume just moments ago. “Thanks for that. That was a lot better than I expected.”

Derek glances back at him, surprised. “You’re going to have much better than _that_ , Stiles, believe me.”

“I don’t think anyone could have done a better job in these circumstances, so… yeah. Thanks.” He hugs his knees and looks down. Danny had talked about being a cuddler. Stiles doesn’t know if they really have the same tastes, but he could sure as hell go for a little spooning right now. All his nerves are still raw and his senses open, but all he’s getting now is the cell and the dread of impending doom.

He’s surprised when Derek sits down next to him, shoulder to shoulder. It paints a line of warmth down his side, and it’s a lot more comforting than it has any right to be. It’s not like they’re any safer now. “I really liked it,” he says, nudging Derek with his shoulder.

Derek raises his arm and drapes it around Stiles’ back, holding him closer. His eyes flash blue again as he scans their surroundings, muscles tense and poised for attack. “Good. I’m glad for you.”

“Do you want me to…” Not having reciprocated is digging a cold pit in his stomach. He thinks of roman boys and prostitutes, and of that documentary he watched with Scott once on Pompeii and the moss-covered brothels they showed on the History channel. They used to call them ‘wolf dens’, and the girls ‘she-wolves’.

He wonders if his experience isn’t all that different after all.

“Don’t worry about me,” Derek rumbles. “Just stay behind me when she comes, ok? I can handle her.”

The reality of their situation belies that, but Stiles holds his tongue. If Derek wants to believe he can still protect him, that Stiles believes he will make it out of here…

“I trust you,” he says, and it’s true.

 

 


End file.
